All The Pretty Faces
by ScarletVampyre
Summary: Because, Sirius thinks, it's easy to love Remus. And if the lies burn his tongue, does it really matter? SiriusRemus. Slash, nonfluffy.


**A/N:** Oh look, more Remus abuse. Poor dear.

**Warnings:** Just slash. And the ever unavoidable abuse of Remus.

**Because, Sirius thinks, it's easy to love Remus. And if the lies burn his tongue, does it really matter?**

**All The Pretty Faces**

**i didn't really love you but i'm pretty when i lie**

It's easy to love Remus, Sirius thinks.

From the moment he first corners Remus in the dark common room and pushes him up against the wall, Sirius knows that Remus is caught. He can see the burning turn of colour in Remus' eyes that betrays how fast he is falling and when they kiss for the first time – Sirius clamping his mouth over Remus' with barely a heartbeat before thrusting his tongue in – Remus' fingers clutching at Sirius' shoulders speak of a instant desperation that promises difficulty in concealing.

And after that, it's all so fucking simple.

Long-fingered hand resting on trembling knee under the dinner table; soft brush of lips to curve of jaw in the drifting moments before sleep; quirk of secretive smile flashed over heads of the unsuspecting between classes. Sirius measures these gestures with expert precision and it quickly becomes so that the merest flash of teeth or squeeze of hand has Remus' cheeks flushed with innocent pleasure. It's easy to love Remus when he asks for so little and offers so much – he gives himself entire to Sirius and doesn't quite realise the exchange is neither fair nor balanced. It's easy to love Remus when he is so effortlessly trapped by words like _yours_ and _us_ and _love_.

And when Remus whispers _I love you_, utter trust enveloping the relaxed planes of his face, Sirius curves his lips and tilts his head and he is beautiful as he repeats the words with almost believable eloquence. And if the lie burns his tongue, if that first time pressed against the wall was borne not of want for _Remus_, if, in fact, he isn't even seeing Remus as he murmurs that incomparable phrase, does it really matter?

**i didn't want to fuck you but you're pretty when you're mine**

It's easy to fuck Remus, Sirius thinks.

His legs spread willingly and his hot hands rest at the small of Sirius' back, shaking and pushing, encouraging Sirius to push into his body. His spine arches in a graceful arc and Sirius isn't entirely unsusceptible to the beauty of white limbs on white sheets, the splash of dark blonde hair across the soft pillows. Remus' mouth is a small O of breathless wonder, swollen red, and Sirius thinks it pleasing, particularly when Remus' lips slide in a tight ring over his cock, forever eager to please.

There are marginal doubts, flimsy little things that easily tear like fine paper.

Even now, the very first time that he presses himself inside Remus, there are niggling thoughts that Sirius does well to ignore. There is the soft rasp of caught breath and fingers pressing into his back and as Sirius takes Remus' virginity he knows there is so much more Remus will give and he knows he will greedily hoard it all. It's easy to fuck Remus when he tumbles like silk across Sirius' bed, open legs and inviting warmth. It's easy to fuck Remus when he gives himself so willingly and gasps sweet words as he clings to Sirius.

And when Remus comes, a sticky spill against Sirius' palm, his face is flushed and he groans softly and he is beautiful as Sirius hisses _mine_. And if Sirius scrunches his eyes tight and tries not to look at Remus when he comes, if he tries to place that expression of complete dependency on the face in his mind's eye, if, in fact, he isn't really thinking about Remus at all, does it really matter?

**i didn't want to hurt you but you're pretty when you cry**

It's easy to hurt Remus, Sirius thinks.

At least, Sirius _should_ think. He should see the little things that betray how easily Remus can be broken. The involuntary flinches when Sirius absently says something cruel; the downward tug of the corner of mouth when Sirius ignores him; the furrow of brow when Sirius' eyes glaze in concentration of the imaginary when he touches Remus. The dawning realisation that crashes into ice-cold understanding and contorts Remus' face when Sirius accidentally whispers the wrong name - the name that has always been balanced on the tip of his tongue, the name that has always tempted his lips to shape around – too loudly when they fuck.

Sirius _should_ see these things. Of course, he doesn't.

And if Sirius doesn't see it because his eyes are locked unmoving on James talking to Evans, if he wasn't entirely aware it was Remus he was kissing that first time up against the wall, if he pictures a different face, different hair, different eyes, different boy when he's fucking Remus, if he sometimes forgets Remus' name and instead groans _James_, if he doesn't see Remus' heart breaking because all he can see is his own world falling apart as James slips away from him, does it really matter?

**Peractio**

**A/N:** So Remus got used again. I did _try_ to stop it from happening. Sort of. And James managed to worm his way in there again, sneaky little bastard. Well, maybe next time there will be sunshine and roses. Maybe.


End file.
